All of These Stars Will Guide Us Home
by castielofasgard
Summary: [Stucky – Sequel to "I Know These Scars Will Bleed" – Post CA:TWS] After escaping Hydra's clutches and going on the run to rediscover his identity, Bucky Barnes finally finds the courage to go to Steve Rogers and learn who he is from the one person living who really knows. [warnings: mild smut and some language]


~~Sequel to "I Know These Scars Will Bleed"~~

The cold of the brick wall his back was pressed against seeped through his clothes and chilled him. He was huddled in a dark alley, waiting as the rain poured down. Normally he had been able to find places to stay on evenings like this but today was different. He had finally got up the courage to go to him, that man... Steve Rogers. The one who knew him. The one that he knew. But first he had to wait. That other man, the one who had had wings before, had gone up to Steve's apartment a couple hours ago and he didn't want to have anyone else there when he knocked on Steve's door.  
A bolt of lightning split the sky, lighting up his hiding place. He pulled his jacket tighter around him as the closely following roll of thunder made the pavement beneath him vibrate. A moment later, the door to the apartment complex opened and the man with the wings stepped out, opening an umbrella before jogging out into the storm. It was time.

He stood up and crossed the street, barely checking for oncoming traffic, then entered the complex. He stood for a moment, dripping rainwater onto the doormat, before going to the elevator and jabbing the button with his metal index finger. He had begun to create a small puddle of water where he stood when the doors slid open. He stepped inside and pushed the button for level three. He had watched long enough to know exactly where he was going. When the doors slid open again, he stepped out into the hallway and took a left, eying the doors until he found the right one. His heart was pounding nervously in his chest and he hesitated, wondering if he was really ready. Then he knocked.

A click of the bolt and the door opened. Steve Rogers stood on the threshold, staring in disbelief.  
"Bucky?"  
Bucky blinked. His name. He had been repeating it to himself every night before he fell asleep, making himself remember, but it was strange to hear someone else say it. It was strange to hear someone call him by any name at all.  
"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.  
"Of course."  
Steve stepped back to let him in, then shut the door. Bucky looked down at his muddy shoes and quickly slipped them off, not wanting to make a mess of Steve's clean floors.  
"Do you mind if I use your shower?"  
"Sure, I'll show you where it is."  
Bucky followed Steve around the corner and down the short hallway.  
"Here you go. The spare bedroom is right next door. I, uh... I've got some clean clothes in there that you can put on after..." said Steve.  
"Thank you."  
Bucky stepped into the bathroom and watched Steve retreat back down the hall before closing the door. He stripped off his wet clothes and turned on the water, then stepped into the shower. The hot stream of water sent a chill up his spine as the cold numbness ebbed away. Not wanting to take too long, he washed up and shut off the water. He grabbed a towel from the rack and dried off, feeling cleaner than he could ever remember feeling, then wrapped the towel around his waist and went into the spare room. The large, comfortable looking bed was neatly made, and there were some clean clothes folded in a pile at the end of it, just as Steve promised. Bucky let his towel fall, pulling on a pair of soft sweatpants and a t-shirt. Both were exactly his size and Bucky suspected that Steve had bought these clothes specifically for him. There was a soft knock and Steve poked his head in.  
"Hi," he said nervously.  
"Hi," Bucky replied. "Sorry I left my old clothes on the floor, I didn't know what to do with them..."  
"That's okay, I already put them in the wash," said Steve. "I was just wondering, if you want... um... I could make you something to eat."  
"Okay."  
"What would you like?"  
Bucky stared at him. He wasn't used to having options. The entire time he'd been on his own he had been stuck with whatever he could find.  
"I could make you some toast," Steve offered, seeing his discomfort.  
"Okay, sure," said Bucky.  
He followed Steve into the kitchen and sat at the table while Steve made the toast. When it was finished, he set the plate in front of him along with a knife and a jar of strawberry jam.  
"I thought you might like it," Steve said sheepishly. "You always liked having strawberry jam on your toast before. Actually... I, uh... I kinda bought like ten jars of it... just in case... if you came..."  
"Thank you."  
Bucky felt the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. It was a foreign feeling; he had forgotten he was even capable of it. He picked up the knife and spread some jam on his toast before eating. The flavor was familiar, its sweetness giving him a sense of nostalgia for something he couldn't remember. When he was finished, Steve took his plate and put it in the dishwasher.  
"Is there anything else you'd like?" he asked.  
"Actually... I'd kind of like to sleep. If that's okay."  
"Of course it is," said Steve. "I've got a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. It's the blue one. Just let me know if you need anything."  
"Thanks," Bucky said, standing up.  
He went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. Sure enough, there were two toothbrushes, one red and one blue. He quickly brushed his teeth, then went into the spare room and closed the door. He slipped under the covers and lay down, staring at the ceiling. A flash of lightning lit up the room and Bucky closed his eyes. Maybe tonight he would sleep through the night, maybe now that he was somewhere safe with someone he knew would never hurt him, though he didn't know why he was so sure of that...

Sleeping through the night had obviously been too much to hope for. He woke up long before dawn, sweating and terrified, hoping he hadn't cried out and woken Steve. It was a while before he was able to fall back asleep, but the next time he woke the sun had risen. When he went out to the kitchen, he found a note from Steve on the table:  
"Went on a run with Sam. Help yourself to whatever you like. I'll be back soon."  
Bucky made himself toast with strawberry jam again. He took his plate into the living room and sat on the sofa to eat. On the coffee table was a large photo album that Steve probably put there on purpose for him to find. Bucky set down his half-eaten slice of toast and picked up the book, opening it. It was obviously fairly new because the spine crackled briskly as the glue holding it together bent with the movement of the cover. Bucky stared at the first photograph. He had seen it before, when he'd gone to the Smithsonian to try and find out who he was. It was him and Steve, just smiling and laughing. He didn't know why. He couldn't remember. It didn't even feel like that was him beaming at Steve in black and white ink. He turned the page. There were more pictures similar to the one on the first page. Just him and Steve. Smiling. Laughing. In some of them, Steve looked different. Small and skinny, but still smiling.  
The door opened and Bucky looked up as Steve came inside. He saw Bucky and smiled.  
"You're still here. I was worried you'd leave."  
Bucky just shrugged. Steve came over and noticed the book in his lap.  
"There weren't as many pictures of you as I wanted to put in that. You were usually the one behind the camera," he said.  
"I liked taking pictures?" Bucky asked.  
"Yeah. You had this really nice camera, saved up for ages to buy it. You loved that thing. Shield had a bunch of stuff that they let me have from back when they first started, some of it was yours. The camera wasn't there for some reason. It's probably in some antique shop now... but there was this."  
Steve went to the bookshelf and pulled down another photo album. This one was much larger than the one he had left out, and much older. The pages were a bit yellow, but other than that it was in surprisingly good condition. He handed it to Bucky.  
"Those were all the photos you took. You put them together in there... I've looked through it a few times since I got it..."  
Bucky opened it. It had a distinct old-book smell and the seventy year old spine crackled more than the new one. Carefully, Bucky flipped through the pages, looking at the photographs of things he had once seen and deemed worthy of capturing. There were pictures of Brooklyn, Central Park, clouds, stray dogs... but mostly Steve. In some of them, Steve was looking at the camera and smiling, but most were candid shots, moments when Steve was at his most natural and probably didn't even know Bucky had lifted his camera. None of them were like the Steve sitting beside him now, all muscles and strength squeezed into a tight shirt. They were of the other Steve, the small and skinny boy in his ill-fitting suits, his hair neatly parted except for that stubborn fringe constantly falling into his face.  
"You're in here a lot," Bucky commented.  
"Yeah..." Steve said quietly.  
"Thanks for showing me these," said Bucky, handing him back the book.  
"You keep it. Maybe it'll help you remember some things."  
"Thanks."  
They fell silent for a moment, then Steve stood up.  
"I'm gonna go take a shower. Make yourself comfortable, help yourself to whatever you need. What's mine is yours, Buck."

That second night, when Bucky woke up with a shout, the door opened up a crack and Steve looked in, tussle-haired and sleepy-looking.  
"Are you okay?" he asked.  
"Yeah. It's nothing. Just a dream."  
Steve frowned and left, softly closing the door behind him. Bucky was pretty sure Steve knew he was lying. If Steve really knew him as well as it seemed, he could tell that Bucky wasn't okay.

That morning, Bucky found another note from Steve, once again letting him know he was on a run with Sam and that he could help himself to whatever he wanted. Just like the morning before, Steve came back a while later, took a shower, then made himself breakfast. Bucky knew that Steve wasn't normally just hanging around his apartment all the time, but he suspected that if he had any duties he was supposed to be taking care of, he had asked for the time off. Bucky was glad that Steve was around because he didn't know what he would do if he was left there alone all day. Though he was very attentive, Steve also gave Bucky plenty of space. Bucky thought he seemed nervous and he noticed more than once that he looked sad when he thought Bucky couldn't see.

The third night when Bucky woke up from a nightmare, Steve came in and sat on the edge of his bed until he fell back asleep. He didn't say or do anything, he was just there. And somehow that helped.

When Steve came back from his run with Sam that morning, Bucky was busy in the kitchen and had breakfast ready for him on the table by the time he was done in the shower.  
"I need to go out for a bit this afternoon, but I'll be back in time for dinner," Steve told him as he ate his scrambled eggs.

The fourth night, Steve rubbed Bucky's back and murmured comforting words to him until he could sleep again. Bucky knew that Steve stayed there all through the night, not sleeping a wink. But he didn't tell Steve that he knew. He made breakfast for him again that morning.

The fifth night, after Bucky got into bed, he stared at the ceiling for several minutes before getting back up again. Heart hammering nervously, he opened Steve's bedroom door.  
"Steve?"  
"Hm? What? Is everything okay?"  
"Yeah... I was wondering... could I maybe... sleep in here with you tonight?"  
"Of course you can."  
Steve folded back the blankets on the other side of the bed and beckoned Bucky over. Bucky closed the door and went over, climbing under the sheets. When he woke up shaking, Steve was right there to soothe him back to sleep.

A week had passed since Bucky first knocked on Steve's door. Bucky was sitting on one end of the sofa, looking through his old photo album for probably the fourteenth time since Steve gave it to him. Steve was in the opposite corner with a leather-bound notebook and a pencil, sketching. Bucky couldn't remember but he was sure that Steve would say that this was just like old times. He closed the photo album and stared at the back cover, turning a thought over in his mind, one that had been nagging at him for days. He was starting to remember a few of the good things instead of just the bad, but there was one thing that didn't seem real.  
"Steve?" he said.  
"Hm?"  
"Did we ever... were we ever... intimate...?"  
Steve looked up from his sketchbook. The look on his face was sadder than any Bucky had seen when Steve didn't know he was looking.  
"Yes. Once. But just once."  
"So it was real. The memory was so fragmented I thought it must've been a dream."  
Bucky looked back down at the photo album in his lap.  
"That night..." Steve said. "We talked about how things could have been if the world were different. It is now. Not perfect. But different."  
"I know," said Bucky.  
They fell silent for a moment, then Bucky looked back up at Steve.  
"Did you ever... I mean... was there ever anyone else? After?" he asked.  
"No. Just you," said Steve. "The next day was when you... when I lost you. And then I went under not many days after that."  
"So there's been no one since you... came back?"  
"No. The only people I was in love with were gone."  
Bucky stared at him for a moment. Had Steve been in love with him? Had he been in love with Steve? Surely if he had he would remember... but then again, he couldn't remember a lot of things...  
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked... it was too private, I was prying..."  
"Bucky, it's fine. I don't mind," said Steve. "You're my best friend. You always have been and always will be. You can ask me anything you want. I want to help you remember."  
Bucky bit his lip and nodded.

That night, when Bucky woke up in Steve's bed terrified, he buried himself in Steve's chest and let his heartbeat lull him back to sleep.

Another week passed, much the same as the one before. Every morning, Bucky would wake up after Steve had gone running, make himself breakfast, then have breakfast ready for Steve when he got back. They wouldn't do much for most of the day, but Bucky started talking more and asking questions, asking Steve to tell him stories of their life together. Sometimes Bucky would remember little things from the stories and ask Steve more about it.  
Occasionally Steve would go out to run errands and Bucky would just sit around the apartment until he got home. One day near the end of the week, Bucky asked Steve if he could come with him to the grocery store. He pulled on a hoodie, and with his hands in his pockets and his hood up, followed Steve around as he filled up the cart. He got a bit anxious a few times when a child would shout or an aisle was crowded, and he was utterly useless emptying the cart at the register with only one hand so as to keep his metal one hidden in his pocket. But after that he started running errands with Steve more often.  
Bucky was still plagued by bad dreams every night, but sleeping in Steve's bed helped and he was able to calm down quicker with Steve right there to comfort him.

It was a cool, drizzly evening about halfway through the third week. Bucky had helped Steve clear up the dinner dishes and they were now sitting in their usual corners of the sofa, Bucky looking through the photo album again (it had been so many times he'd lost count) and Steve sketching. Bucky was just lingering on his favorite photo (Steve leaning against the railing of a bridge in New York, watching the sky), when Steve set down his sketchbook and pencil.  
"I, uh... I have something for you," he said.  
Bucky looked up as Steve went to the closet and pulled out a gift bag. He sat back down and set the bag on the sofa between them, looking nervous.  
"It took a while to find. I had a bunch of my friends searching, they were all pretty willing... Clint found it at this tiny place in upstate New York apparently..."  
"What is it?" Bucky asked.  
"Open it."  
Bucky picked up the bag and slowly pulled out the tissue paper bundle. Whatever was inside was slightly heavy. He folded back the tissue paper and looked inside. It was a very old camera; it was made of black plastic and had a silver metal rim around the lens. There was a strap attached so it could be hung around your neck, and badly embroidered on the strap in faded green thread was the name "B. Barnes". But for once, Bucky didn't need his name on there as proof that this was his. The moment he saw it and held it in his hands he knew. He didn't know how he knew but he did.  
"This is my camera..."  
"I don't know if it still works, but... I thought you might like to have it anyway..."  
"Thank you." He looked up at Steve, smiling though the muscles in his face barely remembered how. "Thank you, Steve. I don't care if it doesn't work. I really don't. I just... I don't know how to thank you enough."  
"Seeing you at least a little happy is good enough for me," said Steve.  
Bucky gently set the camera down on the coffee table and looked back at Steve.  
"It's not enough for me."  
He leaned across the sofa and hesitated a moment before kissing him.  
"But that is," he said, pulling away slowly.  
Steve stared at him in shock. Bucky's smile faltered.  
"Oh no. I'm sorry. I fucked up, didn't I? I'm sorry..."  
"No no, it's fine, it's more than fine, it's... can you do it again?"  
This time it was Bucky staring in shock.  
"You mean... you're okay with it? You don't mind?"  
"Of course I don't mind."  
Slowly, Bucky leaned forward again and kissed him. This one lasted just slightly longer than the first.  
"Is it still okay?" he asked.  
"It's perfect."  
"Can I kiss you more?"  
"Please do."  
Bucky kissed him again, this time bringing his hand up to Steve's cheek. When he started to pull back, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, Steve grabbed the hand that was on his face.  
"Don't stop," he breathed.  
"Are you sure?" Bucky asked.  
"I've never been more sure in my life."  
Bucky felt a sly little grin creeping onto his lips.  
"Not even the time I fucked you in Bern?" he teased.  
Steve hesitated, smiling, and Bucky knew exactly why: he had remembered.  
"Okay, maybe just that once. But this is a very close second."  
Bucky's smile grew and he kissed Steve again, only this time he didn't stop. He let Steve wrap his arms around him and pull him close, and the warmth of Steve's body felt so familiar. They had been here before. Steve's arms were so strong and his kisses charged with such certainty that Bucky felt safer than he had in... well, he couldn't remember how long. But the time didn't matter. What mattered was that he felt _safe_. Actually _safe_. Safe enough to... he broke away, breathing heavily.  
"What d'you say we take this to bed?"  
Steve looked surprised.  
"Are you sure? I mean... you're okay with that? It's not too soon?" he asked.  
"Steve, this is the only thing I've been sure about in seventy years. Sometimes I wake up after a nightmare and it takes me a minute to remember my own name. But right now there's one thing I remember for certain, and that's that I love you, Steve Rogers. So if you'll have me... I'm yours."  
"Oh Bucky..."  
Steve kissed him again, dragging them both to their feet. Bucky wasn't quite sure how they'd managed to get to the bedroom, but suddenly they were there and they were pulling off their clothes and _shit_ how could Hydra have possibly erased the memory of how Steve looked like this from his mind. He climbed onto the bed, pulling Steve after him and drowning him in kisses as they fell back onto the pillows. Steve had Bucky pinned on his back but he didn't care or feel trapped, and when Steve began to kiss his neck his head reeled.  
"If you don't fuck me senseless right now, I swear to god..." he gasped.  
Steve looked down at him with a playful grin.  
"I can do that."  
Bucky groaned in pleasure as Steve obeyed his demand. He closed his eyes, fingers gripping Steve's back, dragging him deeper. Steve continued to kiss his neck, driving Bucky mad with need. He could hardly remember ever feeling this alive. Hearing Steve gasping his name was like hearing a song for the first time in years, one he had forgotten how much he loved. Bucky pulled Steve down harder, needing to touch as much of his body as he could, needing everything Steve could give him. This was bliss. This was life. This was freedom. Three things that, like so much else, he had forgotten. But now he remembered them and it was like coming up for air after a deep dive. He felt like a person again, he felt human, like something worthy of loving and being loved.  
They finished within seconds of each other and Steve rolled over onto his back next to Bucky, both breathing heavily.  
"You're seriously telling me that that was the first time you've had sex since 1943?" Bucky panted.  
"Yup."  
"Damn... that was seriously only your second time having sex? Ever?"  
"Yup."  
"Damn."  
"Was it okay?"  
"Are you kidding? You took 'fuck me senseless' very seriously."  
"So it was okay?"  
"Steve, it was fantastic."  
He looked over at Steve, who looked so proud of himself that Bucky would have been sure he had fallen even more in love if that were possible. Bucky rolled onto his side, curling up against Steve and closing his eyes contentedly.  
"I love you, Steve," he sighed.  
"I love you too, Bucky."

When Bucky woke up the next morning, he was still tangled beneath the sheets with Steve. He wasn't entirely sure why he woke up, but he was certain there was a reason and it wasn't the sun coming up.  
"Steve?" a voice called.  
Ah, that was the reason. Bucky shook Steve gently awake just as a man in sweats appeared in the doorway. It was the man with the wings, who Bucky knew now was the Sam that went running with Steve every morning. Steve groaned next to Bucky and sat up a bit, looking rather dazed.  
"What's going on? Is everything okay?"  
"Uhh..." Sam said, staring at the two of them. He seemed to be frozen on the spot.  
"Sam? What the hell?" Steve mumbled, sitting up all the way and rubbing his eyes.  
"You weren't downstairs... I was making sure you were okay..." said Sam.  
"Down...stairs...? Oh! Shit! Sam, I'm so sorry, I... well..."  
"Late night, eh?"  
Sam was chuckling now, having gotten over the initial shock of finding Steve and Bucky naked in bed.  
"Yeah. Oh god... this is so awkward..."  
"Yeah, you think it's awkward now," said Sam. "I think you forgot that Clint's still in town from bringing your little surprise and you invited him to come with us."  
"Oh shit."  
"He's currently pissing himself laughing in living room."  
Steve groaned and buried his face in his hands. Bucky chuckled and gave Steve a sympathetic pat on the back.  
"Should I go wait with Clint while you put something on?" Sam offered.  
"Yeah, that would be great."  
Still chuckling, Sam left.  
"Well. That was awkward," said Bucky.  
"You don't say..."  
"Still, could be worse."  
"You're taking this surprisingly well for someone who's just been discovered in bed by a man you haven't really met."  
Bucky just shrugged and watched as Steve pulled on his pants.  
"You know, you can come with us if you want," Steve offered, digging through his drawers for a t-shirt.  
Bucky smiled.  
"Thanks. I think I might actually," he said. "Well, that's if I can even walk after last night."  
Steve turned beet red and laughed awkwardly. He put on his shirt then grabbed some socks.  
"Well if you're coming you should get some clothes on, we're already off to a late start," he said.  
Bucky got out of bed and pulled on some sweats and a tank top. As he pulled the shirt over his head, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.  
"Good lord, is this what I look like every morning?" he said, staring at his long, messy hair.  
"Naw, your normal bedhead isn't too bad. If only Nat were here, she'd have something... ah, here, how about a rubber band?"  
"Thanks."  
Bucky took the rubber band and pulled his hair back into a rather sloppy ponytail, then followed Steve out to the living room. Sam was waiting there along with another man who Bucky assumed was Clint.  
"You must be Bucky Barnes," the man said, stepping forward to shake his hand. "I'm Clint Barton. I see Rogers gave you the camera."  
"Yeah, he did. Thank you for finding it," Bucky said.  
"It was no problem. I actually kinda like antique stores so it was fun. Just don't tell Stark, I'll never hear the end of it."  
"Stark?" Bucky repeated; he recognized that name. "Howard Stark?"  
"No, his son, Tony," Steve explained. "Shall we?"

After that day, Bucky joining Steve and Sam on their morning runs became a regular thing, as did many other things (including, but not limited to, sex before bed). Bucky still had nightmares, just less frequently, but every time he woke up sobbing in fear, Steve took him in his arms and comforted him. It turned out Bucky's old camera didn't work after all, but Steve decided that they should pay Tony Stark a little visit because maybe he might be able to fix it. He did manage to fix it and promised to make sure Bucky never ran out of film, since finding the right film for that old of a camera would be hard to say the least. Steve bought Bucky a new photo album and Bucky started taking pictures again, finding everything he thought worth capturing.  
It was calming, searching out beautiful things and photographing them, and it helped make him feel more like himself. He took pictures of the city and stray dogs and trees, but most of all Steve. Of course, a few of those pictures were deemed not suitable for his big photo album and were kept in a much smaller one for Bucky's eyes only, but when Steve shook his head in exasperation, Bucky pointed out that it was only fair since he had let Steve sketch him in a sketchbook that was for Steve's eyes only.  
So maybe life wasn't perfect. Bucky still had nightmares. He still didn't remember everything and often it seemed like he remembered more of the bad stuff than the good stuff. He still didn't always feel comfortable in public. But he had Steve again, his best friend and now his lover, and even if life wasn't perfect, Bucky thought it was still pretty damn good.


End file.
